ul remembrance. She
had looked exactly like it when a young girl, she said; it was strange
how precisely he had hit the color of her hair; but she was afraid it was
blaspheming to paint a Madonna with her face; she was a poor sinner,
nothing more.

Florette was glad that the work was finished, for restlessness again
began to torture her, and the mornings had been so lonely. Zorrillo--it
caused her bitter pain--had not cast even a single glance at her, and she
began to miss the society of men, to which she had been accustomed. But
she never complained, and always showed Ulrich the same cheerful face,
until the latter told her one day that he must leave her for some time.

He had already defeated in little skirmishes small bodies of peasants and
citizens, who had taken the field against the mutineers; now Colonel
Romero called upon him to help oppose a large army of patriots, who had
assembled between Lowen and Tirlemont, under the command of the noble
Sieur de Floyon. It was said to consist Of students and other rebellious
brawlers, and so it proved; but the "rebels" were the flower of the youth
of the shamefully-oppressed nation, noble souls, who found it unbearable
to see their native land enslaved by mutinous hordes.

Ulrich's parting with his mother was not a hard one. He felt sure of
victory and of returning home, but the excitable woman burst into tears
as she bade him farewell.

The Eletto took the field with a large body of troops; the majority of
the mutineers, with them. Captain and Quartermaster Zorrillo, remained
behind to hold the citizens in check.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

A considerable, but hastily-collected army of patriots had been utterly
routed at Tisnacq by a small force of disciplined Spaniards.

Ulrich had assisted his countrymen to gain the speedy victory, and had
been greeted by his old colonel, the brave Romero, the bold
cavalry-commander, Mendoza, and other distinguished officers as one of
themselves. Since these aristocrats had become mutineers, the Eletto was
a brother, and they did not disdain to secure his cooperation in the
attack they were planning upon Antwerp.

He had shown great courage under fire, and wherever he appeared, his
countrymen held out their hands to him, vowing obedience and loyalty unto
death.

Ulrich felt as if he were walking on air, mere existence was a joy to
him. No prince could revel in the blissful consciousness of increasing
power, more fully than he. Th